


Plausible Deniability

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Hugs, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Elizabeth's fault.</p><p>Re-post of commentfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plausible Deniability

**Author's Note:**

> For abrokencompass.

John didn't figure he'd be cashiered for the stunt he'd pulled, since they'd succeeded after all, and had managed to oust the Replicators and save Woolsey's tender behind, not to mention John's C.O., but that didn't mean he was looking forward to facing O'Neill solo.

Especially not after seeing O'Neill having to put up with one of Elizabeth's out-of-the-blue monster hugs. John watched O'Neill stiffen up and had to duck back with a grin, because it was funny and kind of awful seeing someone else go through it and knowing just exactly how O'Neill felt being on the other end of one of those.

John didn't make a clean getaway though, because he heard, "Sheppard. Sheppard, damn it!" coming from behind him, and stopped with a wince.

"Yessir?" John made himself salute.

"Oh, don't salute at me. It gives me hives. Especially when I know you don't mean it." O'Neill glared at him, but he was smirking a little, too, so John relaxed his stance.

"I do so mean it," he said earnestly. "Sometimes."

The smirk grew more pronounced. "Just not when it's General Landry," O'Neill said, continuing to walk down the corridor. John bit his lip and followed. It was weird seeing O'Neill look so confident walking around John's city, but then he'd been occupying it for a while now.

"What exactly made you think it was a good idea to steal a ship from under Landry's nose, anyway?" O'Neill waited until John opened his mouth and raised his finger, "While he was looking, Sheppard. That's the key. We want it back, by the way." He stopped and waved his hand—in front of John's old quarters, he realized—holy crap, General O'Neill had been staying in John's old quarters. It looked like the Replicators hadn't gotten around to getting rid of his things, either.

"The location suited me," O'Neill said to John's questioning look. "Although I hafta say—it took me a while to figure out how to undo what you'd done to the crapper."

John groaned and dropped his head, but followed meekly when O'Neill led the way into his quarters.

"So," O'Neill clapped his hands together once, "let the hide tanning begin, so I can go see if the Replicators left any of those really excellent tarts the Alterans liked to have after dinner. You ever have one of those? No? Well, they're really super."

"I'm sure they are, sir." Here it came, then. What he'd been waiting for since the moment Caldwell told him his authentication code was no longer valid. It was weird how John didn't mind it so much, having it come from O'Neill. O'Neill was pretty much the best C.O. he'd ever had, from what little contact John'd had with him. He never made John feel like he was still in the service on Uncle Sam's forbearance.

O'Neill stared at him for a long moment. John couldn't read O'Neill's expression, hard as he tried, and he felt his spine stiffening automatically.

Finally, O'Neill sighed and said, "Look, if anyone asks, especially Hank, I put your feet to the coals for hours, all right? But I'm tired and I really want some tarts, and I already told Dr. Weir you guys can stay, so..."

"Oh." John's head reeled. "Is that what that hug was about?"

"Yeah." O'Neill shifted uncomfortably. "She do that a lot?"

John made a face. "Every so often. Wait, so, we really get to stay? All of us? Me, too, sir?" He knew he sounded idiotic, but he was helpless to stop himself.

"I said so, didn't I? Pretty sure." O'Neill gave him a narrow look. "You're not gonna hug me now, are you?"

John was giddy. And, what the hell, with a set-up like that, he had plausible deniability. He saw it register on O'Neill's face just as he reached out, but by then it was too late, and he had his arms around the General, all six feet plus of him. He smelled damned good, but John tried hard not to notice that, or the strength of the arms that came up around John's sides.

O'Neill didn't stiffen up, either; he just gave John a couple of pats and laughed a little, softly. "Good one. You got me, kiddo." He pushed John away, both of them grinning, and there was something there now, a warmth in those brown eyes that made John's gut tighten a little.

"Thank you, sir." John had to resist saluting—a first for him, but he was a little out of his head.

"Next time you decide to mutiny, bring Carter, would ya?"

"You got it."

"And don't forget: we want our ship back. And don't put any scratches on her." O'Neill headed over to his bunk. It looked like he planned to start packing up his gear.

John turned to leave, since he'd obviously been dismissed.

"Hey, Sheppard?"

"Yes, sir?"

"See if you can find me couple of those tarts?" O'Neill asked wistfully.

"I'm on it." Hell, John would bring him the whole damned kitchen.

Whistling a little tune, John headed down to the mess.

 

 _End._


End file.
